


Baby, We Both Know

by abovetheserpentine



Series: Cruel Or Kind [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Famous Harry, Fluff, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Musician Liam, Mutual Pining, Non-Famous Liam, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Solo Artist Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 16:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9333269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheserpentine/pseuds/abovetheserpentine
Summary: “I have to say,” Harry starts when he's seated, some of his energy back, popping a grape into his mouth and continuing once he’s swallowed his mouthful, “I’ve always wanted to get fucked on your drum kit.”Set 2013 / 2018.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like I owed you all for the angst hell of my last Lirry. So here, have 5k of smut. :)
> 
> This won't make much sense context wise unless you've read the first in the series, but if you're just looking for smut then you'll be able to read this without many problems, I expect. Title taken from the Arctic Monkeys' song Do I Wanna Know?

**2013**

 

“ _Liam,_ ” Harry chokes out, head hanging between his shoulder blades. His arms are wooden, hands splayed on his sheets and fingers gripping at them helplessly, “Liam, _please._ ”

Liam lets his fingers brush over Harry once more, another moan coming out of the boy beneath him, young but definitely old enough for this. He feels drunk, though the drinks they had at the bar were hours ago; the night’s still dark and dreary outside, a pit-pattering of uneven rain hitting the roof. Liam’s breath feels too big for his lungs as he pants quietly, large hands grasping Harry’s hips bruisingly. Harry cries out at a particularly hard squeeze, trying to shove his arse back into Liam’s crotch, to give himself friction or to suggest something else Liam can’t even fathom right now.

“What ‘s it?” Liam manages to ask, biting at his lip when Harry looks over his shoulder at him, mouth open and lips red. He remembers those lips around his cock, mouth stretching wide to accommodate him as Harry looked up at him through dark lashes. Liam moans at the memory, grinding up against Harry’s arse. Harry’s head drops back down, a moan coming from him at the movement.

“Please,” Harry begs, and Liam’s mind flashes to all the different ways he can make Harry beg more, beg pretty, beg endlessly– “ _God,_ please, _fuck me,_ ” He pushes his arse back into Liam again, a frustrated huff when he can’t get Liam’s dick near his hole, “ _Liam._ ”

Liam grabs for the lube, squirting some out onto his hand and stroking his cock, the clean slide making him thrust forward unknowingly, the nails of his left hand biting into the skin at Harry’s hip, scratching. Harry’s back arches slightly, a soft sound coming from his dark pink mouth.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Liam spits out, sweating, “Jesus, Harry.”

He guides his dick across Harry’s rim, the flat of it sliding smoothly and making Harry whimper. Suddenly, he pushes down on Harry’s hips hard, the younger man collapsing into his bed, his dick trapped between his own body and the sheets.

“Liam,” Harry croaks out, confused, “what–”

Liam’s cock pushes between Harry’s arse cheeks, the lube doing its job but still allowing enough friction for both of them to moan loudly, Liam squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation. Harry clenches his muscles, and then Liam’s cursing; the tight, wet feeling doing his head in. He leans over Harry, biceps straining as he plants a hand on either side of those curls. His hips jerk when Harry bites at his left wrist, tongue lapping lovingly at the teeth marks he’s made in apology.

Harry’s lifting his arse with every thrust now, and Liam knows he’s hoping Liam slips, that his dick will push in–

 _God,_ Liam thinks stutteringly, _Insane, he’s insane. Not even stretched. Oh,_ fuck, _shit–_

His cock catches on Harry’s rim for the shortest moment – Harry crying out in pleasure – and Liam holds his breath before it pops up, sliding again, and then he’s coming. Coming and coming and coming, his own mess easing the way even more when Harry’s arse twitches as he groans, weak and spent.

Liam’s arms are shaking, but he has enough energy to lean down and kiss the nape of Harry’s sweaty neck, curls strewn every which way, before he lands heavily beside him and rolls onto his back, panting up at the ceiling.

He turns his head to his left after a moment or two to see Harry’s face, curls sticking to his forehead, mouth parted as he also pants heavily. Liam stares at him, transfixed by the small frown etched onto his face – a remnant of his orgasm – and the way his back lifts up and down with every breath, gradually getting slower and slower until his breaths are even. He’s asleep.

Liam shifts to his side, bringing his left elbow up to rest on the bed, his head cradled in his palm. He lifts his right hand to brush away the damp curls from Harry’s forehead, thumb barely grazing that little dent between Harry’s eyebrows.

“Lovely,” Liam whispers to himself, “Absolutely lovely.”

Harry’s eyes flutter open, and Liam’s breath catches in his chest, his lungs aching at the pressure with every second he stares down at Harry, unmoving.

Green eyes flick up to him, and then Harry’s face transforms, grin taking over every inch of his features – from the flash of his teeth to the indentation of his dimples; from the crinkles around his eyes to the way his nose scrunches up like he’s embarrassed. He laughs lightly, burying his face into the pillow beneath him.

Liam lets his breath out as quietly as he can, silently relieved. His heart beats like a hummingbird’s, fast and fluttery; his fingers feel clumsy as they flit over the ridges of Harry’s exposed ear, making sure his hair doesn’t tumble out from behind it.

Harry turns his head to look at Liam, eyes a little glassy, grin still firmly in place.

“ _Liam,_ ” he says, like he’s speaking through a giggle; pleased and smug and young and embarrassed, “I’m already in your bed.”

“Technically,” Liam says with a smile, eyes exploring all the ridges of Harry’s face, trying to commit it to memory, “I’m in _your_ bed.”

Harry snorts and shoves Liam lightly, “You knew what I meant, Liam.”

Liam can’t help himself in that moment – he can’t help the way his hand cradles the left side of Harry’s face; can’t help the way his fingers scratch at his scalp when he slides it into Harry’s hair; can’t help the way he pushes forward, sure and certain, to lick into Harry’s mouth, hot and heavy and addicted.

Harry makes a noise somewhere between affronted and surprised before melting back into the sheets, twisting his shoulders so he’s almost fully on his back. Liam follows him as their feet scrunch up the duvet at their feet, pushing it even further to the end of the bed. They kiss on and on and on for what feels like hours to Liam; cotton crushed beneath them, rumpled and in disarray though neither of them notice. And even if they did, they’d be hard-pressed to care.

Their noses brush, playful, after they’ve parted; Liam hovers over Harry, one leg sprawled over his with his left arm in the same position as before. Harry’s head sits on his pillow, tilted up so Liam merely has to edge forward slightly to kiss him.

Harry’s nudging Liam’s nose with his own, kissing him with a smile. Liam’s fingers still trace the outline of Harry’s left ear, light and curious. He pulls back to look over Harry’s face, huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the moment, like Harry might just disappear from beneath his fingers never to be seen again; as if Harry’s a wish a genie granted, and Liam only gets the one.

He’s a beautiful wish, absolutely sensational. Liam is happy with only the one wish if that wish is Harry.

Harry’s eyes dart between Liam’s, a quizzical smile tempting his lips.

“What is it?” he mutters, bringing up his own hand to pull at Liam’s bottom lip comically.

“I honestly feel like I’ve dreamt you,” answers Liam, laughing incredulously, “As creepy as that sounds.”

Harry grins, cheeky and unassuming. Liam’s heart skips a beat, surprised and falling.

The grin dies on Harry’s face, his expression turning into something focused and considering.

“It’s not creepy,” he whispers, his fingers tracing Liam’s eyebrows. He stops suddenly, frowning a little, “Okay, maybe it’s a li’le creepy.”

Liam groans, head dropping heavily onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry laughs, loud and carefree.

His hand slides down to Liam’s cheek to push at it hard, bringing his head back up so they can look at each other.

“I like it,” says Harry, quiet and small, the skin around his eyes a little tight, “Whatever that makes me.”

“You would.” Liam grumbles.

Harry makes an indignant sound, pushing at Liam’s face until he rolls onto his back, Harry now a steady weight on top of his hips.

“You don’t even know me!” Harry exclaims, laughing.

Liam grabs his face with both hands and kisses him before he can say anything else, his chest feeling funny and awful. It’s foreign and not entirely wanted, this feeling. Liam doesn’t like the way it sits in his chest; like a heavy weight he can’t get rid of. The idea of carrying it around for more than a fleeting moment makes his head spin, makes his breath hitch. Harry’s making him feel so many things at once it’s hard to keep up. There’s so much of him to know that Liam feels like he needs hours and hours to study him. Liam needs to observe the way he wakes up in the morning; he needs to see how Harry takes his tea, what colour his toothbrush is, what he sounds like when he can’t stop laughing; Liam needs to memorise the curve of his back, every line of his tattoos; he needs to get to know Harry’s friends, figure out why he talks the way he talks, whether he uses gestures sparingly or all the time, whether he’s the friend you go to for advice or the friend you can count on to help you get pissed enough to forget what you need advice about. Liam needs to know all of these things to have that feeling disappear from his chest, to sate his curiosity.

“I’d like to.” he murmurs against Harry’s lips once he’s done, breath hot against him, the only thing he can say to explain how he feels.

“And so would I,” Harry replies, before grabbing Liam’s hands and pulling them from his face, his fingers circling his wrists and pinning them to either side of Liam’s head. He’s smiling wide, dimples making an appearance as he leans over Liam, “After all,” he smirks, “these drummer’s arms need to be put to good use.”

Liam’s chest twinges at that; but with the way Harry’s hands drag down his arms to his chest to his stomach and then lazily grab Liam’s dick, the feeling soon gets lost amongst laughter and seductive taunts, Harry’s grin like a dare Liam can’t say no to.

He’s not exactly sure he wants to say no, either.

 

***

 

**2018**

 

“Harry,” Liam groans warningly, panting, his brow damp and hair sopping wet with sweat. His arms are aching something fierce. It’s been hours and hours of practising, and Harry got home barely half an hour ago. Liam’s surprised he’s lasted this long, if he’s honest with himself. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything, Liam,” Harry retorts, biting his bottom lip red and raw to stop his grin from breaking through, “I’m just standing here,” He steps forward, “Oh, look, now I’m coming closer.”

Liam closes his eyes, hoping for some sort of relief. What from, he’s not sure; relief from the sting of his muscles, the throb of his joints; maybe relief from the sticky, completely uncomfortable feeling that can only truly leave him after a shower; or, most likely, it’s relief from the tease of Harry, standing clad in only his boxer briefs, muscles looking especially lean and inviting after his yoga session. In Liam’s drum room.

“I know this is your place,” Liam starts, pushing his stool back a little, breath hitching at the way Harry walks over so calmly, so easily, completely relaxed and lax and lazy despite the outline of a cock that Liam can’t stop staring at, “And I’m thankful you’ve let me keep my kit here, Haz,” Harry’s within an arm’s reach now, and the fact that Liam’s sitting down and that Harry’s crotch is at his eye level has not escaped Liam’s notice, “But I really do need to practise.”

“I know, Liam,” Harry replies, and his voice has gone gravelly and slow, like when he’s about to sink to his knees and suck Liam off no matter where they are because he’s so aroused. Liam gulps, fingers twitching with the sudden desire to grab and pull and devour. It’s not fair, that voice. Harry doesn’t even know it’s a thing – and Liam plans to keep it that way. Once Harry figures out he can control Liam with a mere pitch change, then Liam’s done for. He’ll be positively doomed; they won’t leave Harry’s flat for weeks if he finds that out. No. Best to keep it his own secret for now. “I won’t stop you.”

The way he plants himself in Liam’s lap says differently, the backs of his thighs rubbing against the tops of Liam’s. Liam regrets his own choice of boxer briefs in that instant, the drag of Harry’s skin against Liam’s feeling inappropriately arousing considering they’re only touching legs.

The heavy weight of Harry’s cock grinds into Liam’s own hardening dick as Harry shifts closer. His hands curl over Liam’s sweaty shoulders, ringed fingers sliding underneath the wide straps of Liam’s vest, pressing in deep and drawing out a splutter from Liam.

“So tense, Liam,” Harry says, cheeky, his dimples flashing. Liam looks up at him from his drum stool, sticks falling to the ground as his hands land on Harry’s soft waist, gripping at the excess there and pulling Harry toward him in a rough jerk that Liam knows he loves. Harry’s eyelids flutter, never fully re-opening in his arousal. “Definitely,” Harry breathes out, grinding his arse down onto Liam’s dick, his fingers arching, nails stinging harshly on Liam’s shoulders, “tense. Think I can help with that, yeah?”

His mouth, pink and lush, descends upon Liam’s. As soon as they meet, Harry’s swiping his tongue inside, licking at Liam’s own and pushing closer and closer. Liam shudders when Harry brushes the roof of his mouth, pulling away to bury his face in Harry’s hair, mouth breathing hotly against the left side of Harry’s head. He squeezes his hands, feeling the way Harry’s slow thrusts falter at the action. Liam drags his right hand across to Harry’s navel, scratching down Harry’s stomach before he grabs his cock, hot and hard and leaking.

“You’ve been teasing me since you got in,” Liam mutters, moving his lips across Harry’s cheek to seize his mouth once more, “You’re a menace.”

“I do,” huffs Harry, breath hitching when Liam lifts his own hips to grind against Harry’s arse, “yoga... every day,” his green eyes look down at Liam, dark and heady, “ _Liam._ ” Liam pulls at his cock, Harry’s answering moans all the answer he really needs.

“I know,” Liam pants, his heart still racing from practice and unlikely to slow down until Harry’s out of his proximity, “But you don’t need to do it in here, do you?” The stool squeaks a touch when Liam guides Harry up with his left hand so he can pull at the waistband of his briefs with his right. Harry manages to stand, though his chest sways into Liam as he pulls at his underwear, tugging them down his legs in a drag that makes him shiver, nipples peaking. Liam bites at one, hearing the high-pitched moan of Harry and continuing across – biting at his sternum tattoo until the skin is red and Harry is pushing at his head – to the other, giving it the same treatment.

Harry’s legs are trembling by the time Liam’s satisfied, and he pulls Harry into his lap after pushing his own briefs down his thighs, the material bunching at his knees. The slide of their dicks when Harry takes a hold of them, pre-come smoothing the way, is heavenly. Liam’s licking at the underneath of Harry’s jaw, a hand in his hair to pull and angle his head just so. The other grips at his waist. Harry’s got one hand holding them both and the other at the nape of Liam’s neck, a lazy presence that acts more as a way to ground himself than any sort of direction on his part.

“The acoustics...” Harry murmurs, pulling Liam back slightly to capture his lips, licking at them briefly before he pulls away, a hair’s breadth, “are ideal.”

“For yoga?” Liam pants, the hand at Harry’s waist sliding back and around, his fingers searching, “Or for this?”

Harry’s head drops onto Liam’s shoulder at the first touch of his fingers, and Liam groans when he feels the lube already there, like Harry spent the first twenty minutes he was home preparing himself for this, planning for this very thing to happen. The fact he started yoga half-hard should’ve been a giveaway, Liam realises, but he’d been so focused on his rhythm that the thought of Harry possibly fingering himself a couple of rooms away hadn’t occurred to him.

“You touched yourself,” Liam grits out, hand going from Harry’s hair to grab at Harry’s wrist and stopping him from continuing to get them off, “when I was two walls away?”

Harry whines, wrist twisting in Liam’s firm but gentle grip. He shifts his hips forward, seeking friction, and his dick leaks even more pre-come when Liam tightens his hold, joint grinding a little under the force. Harry’s breath hitches, and his cheeks flush – a flush that travels down to his chest.

“Li,” Harry whispers, his voice wavering against Liam’s neck, “Li, oh, God...”

Liam’s slides two fingers in with little resistance, Harry’s ten minutes of yoga no detriment to the twenty minutes of preparation Harry snuck in prior – a yoga that consisted of a lot more downward dog than Liam can ever remember it having, he now realises.

Liam lets go of his wrist – ringed red – so that Harry can grasp Liam’s shoulders, an anchor in the tumultuous sea of his pleasure. He’s rocking back on Liam’s hand now, his breath hot and wet against Liam’s stubble. Liam slides in a third finger at the same time he curls all of them. Harry jerks forward, crying out as his dick spurts more pre-come.

“Did you come already?” Liam asks, nipping at Harry’s jaw. “Couldn’t wait?”

“So good,” Harry moans, eyes closed and teeth biting into his bottom lip. His mouth is raw and swollen, a tease if Liam ever saw one, “Thought of you, thought of this,” He rocks back against the fingers inside him, shuddering at the brush of them against his prostate, “Couldn’t stop.”

“ _Christ,_ ” Liam spits out as his own dick twitches, curling his fingers again to hear Harry’s cries, his moans choked and cut off when Liam’s left hand brushes over his sensitive nipples. He gives him a moment’s rest, kissing Harry soft and tender as he tries to catch his breath, “Can you stand, babe?”

“No,” Harry whines, “ _Here,_ Li.”

“I know, I know,” Liam placates him, kissing his lazy lips once more as he removes his fingers, Harry’s exhaling at the loss, “Just need you to lift up.”

Harry pushes up on trembling legs, his thighs spasming with the effort. Liam moves his left hand to grab a hold of his own cock, positioning it so Harry can sink down, a smooth slide that’ll leave him breathless.

 _Christ,_ Liam thinks reverently, _He looks a right scene._

And he does. Harry’s curls are a little greasy with sweat, some of them plastered to the sides of his face. His face is flushed, eyes dark and pupils wide. His lips are plump and red, his jaw littered with red marks that go all the way down to his chest, nipples stiff and goosebumps all over. His stomach is quivering with the effort of holding himself up, dick hard and leaking as it curves slightly to Liam’s right. His strong thighs are struggling, and the hurried inhales let Liam know he needs to sit down as soon as possible.

Liam’s right hand, wet with lube, lands on Harry’s hip, guiding him down.

Harry moans long and low when Liam’s head breaches him, the first stretch his favourite part – or so he tells Liam every time after they have sex. He hangs his head back, neck straining and begging to be bitten. Liam complies, licking at Harry’s Adam’s apple with abandon.

Harry hisses once Liam’s fully seated, eyes closed. Liam moves his left hand to the small of Harry’s back, making sure he doesn’t fall off, before sliding his right hand around the back of Harry’s neck and pulling his head forward, crushing their lips together.

“Beautiful,” Liam murmurs, loving the way the skin around Harry’s eyes softens, his expression going from suspenseful to pleasured in seconds. His mouth drops open, and he groans out Liam’s name. “ _Haz._ ”

The slow grind of Liam inside Harry is torture. With every slide of skin, every drag of a hand across a stomach, every yank of a hand in hair, every bite of the lips... the way Harry’s moving in Liam’s lap, like he can’t get the right angle, sets him off. It feels like he’s fidgeting, rocking back and forth and trying a new angle with every grind. Liam’s panting soon enough, his own hips jerking up when he can. Harry’s makes a sound like he’s winded when Liam thrusts up unexpectedly.

“ _God,_ Li,” Harry moans, dropping his head to Liam’s shoulder and biting, making Liam jerk forward, “Deeper, deeper, _deeper–_ ”

Liam drags both his hands to Harry’s hips and yanks him down onto his dick, thrusting up sharply in sync, his thighs burning like he’s just run fifteen miles at the gym.

Harry cries out, loud and deep, and Liam feels his own dick get impossibly harder, his thrusts becoming faster and more desperate, the sound of the back of Harry’s thighs hitting his own a rhythm that only makes him more aroused, climbing closer and closer to his climax. Harry’s thighs are shaking as he curls in on himself, his head dropping to Liam’s chest as Liam leans back some. Liam reaches down to grab his cock, and it takes barely one, two, three, _four_ pulls on him for Harry to orgasm with a long, stuttered moan, his come hitting both of their chests and the underside of his own jaw.

He’s fairly boneless as Liam continues, and when he lifts his head for Liam to clean him up, Liam comes with a mouth on Harry’s jaw, licking at Harry and tasting him, biting when he can’t hold back his own noises.

He thrusts up through it, uncoordinated, until he slows, his hips moving languorously. Harry’s shivering with every small grind, breath hitching against Liam’s neck, his curls an absolute mess about his head.

“Love,” Liam murmurs, bringing a hand up into Harry’s hair and gently coaxing his head back to look into his eyes. They’re half-lidded, mouth still parted obscenely. He looks absolutely wrecked, and Liam’s dick twitches at the thought. Harry bites his bottom lip hard, making it turn a stark white before it blooms red, darker and more enticing than it was before. “Shower, yeah?’

Harry hums approvingly, leaning forward to kiss Liam, slow and tender, his tongue languidly brushing against Liam’s like he’s too tired to do much more, though the thought’s there.

Harry’s face twists when Liam slips out, but he wraps his quivering legs around Liam’s back, uncaring of the groan his boyfriend gives out when he stands and nearly stumbles into the drum kit under Harry’s weight.

He unwraps Harry’s legs from around his hips when they reach the bathroom, his right hand circling Harry’s knee and pushing it down even as his left sits comfortably in the crease between upper thigh and arse. Harry almost stumbles away once his feet hit the ground, but Liam pulls him back in, hand on his elbow as he presses a soft kiss to his lips, neck arching the slightest bit.

Liam slides their hands together and brushes past Harry and into the bathroom, their joined fingers making him follow. Harry rests his head on Liam’s upper back – teeth grazing the skin in a lazy attempt to give love bites – as Liam turns on the taps, sticking his free hand in to test the water.

“C’mon, Haz.” Liam utters once the temperature is erring on the side of too hot. Harry loves it scalding, and Liam’s own muscles will thank him later if he lets Harry have his way – not like Harry doesn’t always get his way, anyway; Liam’s a sucker for his dimples.

He pulls Harry in front of him, to which Harry simply leans back into Liam’s chest, bringing their entwined hands onto his own stomach, right over his butterfly tattoo; branded red with all of the attention Liam lavished upon it earlier.

“Love you.” Harry whispers as he turns his head, lips brushing Liam’s jaw. Liam feels his own face soften, his eyes crinkle slightly with the warm smile he can’t help. He rears back to look at Harry, brown eyes searching his face before settling on green, smile turning into a blinding grin.

He leans in to brush his lips against Harry’s in a barely-there kiss, smile making it difficult. He leans his forehead against Harry’s once they part, eyes closed.

“I’m so in love with you,” he murmurs against Harry’s lips, pausing only a moment before opening his eyes and continuing, “now are you going to get into the shower, or do I have to shove you in?”

Harry’s laugh comes out like a loud honk, and he brings a hand up to cover his mouth, eyes wide.

“Alright,” Liam says, pushing Harry forward into the spray, his boyfriend squawking indignantly, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Liam!” Harry exclaims, spluttering through water. Liam laughs, bringing his hands up to push Harry’s wet curls away from his face, fingers tangling in the strands and gently running through the knots.

Harry’s pout disappears once Liam squirts shampoo into his hands and massages Harry’s head. His eyes flutter closed, and he slumps forward, tattoos looking warped with the way the soap foam rests over them, bubbles forming and popping in equal measure. Liam’s heart feels impossibly full in that moment as Harry moans, his hands loosely resting on Liam’s hips. To think he could have never had this – to think he may have settled for this with someone else... it’s a horrid thought, one he doesn’t like to indulge in anymore. He has his Harry, and Harry has him. It’s sorted, and Liam feels so very light at that fact.

He spends his time on Harry’s hair – more for himself than for Harry, though he’s certainly not complaining – and by the time he moves on to rubbing soap into Harry’s chest, hand dropping down to scrape through the thin smattering of hairs on his stomach, Harry’s lax in his grip, eyes closed and making sleepy hums every minute or so.

He almost whines when two of Liam’s fingers slide back into him, his arse shifting back to get them deeper, but also jerking forward into Liam’s hips at the brush against the most responsive part of him, still feeling the affect of their love-making.

“Liam,” Harry hisses out in a quiet breath, “This isn’t fair.”

Liam slides them back out, kneading Harry’s arse a little before leaving it alone, used and sensitive.

They dry off clumsily, and by the time they collapse into bed they’re slightly damp and starting to feel peckish. Liam groans at the thought of getting up again, but he must’ve done something right because Harry merely gifts him with a long, slow kiss before hobbling leisurely to the kitchen. He comes back with a bowl of grapes, and Liam catches one in his mouth when Harry throws it at him, the latter grinning wide when he does.

“I have to say,” Harry starts when he's seated, some of his energy back, popping a grape into his mouth and continuing once he’s swallowed his mouthful, “I’ve always wanted to get fucked on your drum kit.”

Liam looks at him incredulously, unable to say anything given the fruit in his mouth.

“What?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow and eating another grape, “It’s perfect. Now you’re bound to get hard every time you play.”

Liam rolls his eyes as he swallows, an indulgent smile on his lips, “Thanks for that.” He says drolly. Harry looks extremely smug.

Once the bowl is empty, Harry deposits it on his bedside with a _clunk_ before returning to fall onto Liam’s chest. Liam blows some of his hair out of his mouth, Harry seemingly uncaring as he settles in, dragging Liam’s right arm over his shoulder so that his hand rests on Harry’s navel, fingers dancing over the inked laurels there.

He picks up Liam’s hand after a few silent minutes, playing with his fingers absently as if in thought. Liam can see his eyelashes from here, can see the way they’re lowered – like Harry’s staring at the way his own rings brush against Liam’s hand.

“I’m going to miss you,” Harry admits quietly. Liam presses his mouth to his curls, breathing in the scent of kiwis, “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“No, you don’t.” Liam tells him, and Harry bites at Liam’s hand in retaliation. Liam’s right, though – Harry loves touring. It’s like he lives for it; the look on his face when he sees the crowd is something wild and uninhibited. His limbs go loose and pliant when the music takes over and he’s screaming into a microphone. He’s never more at home than when an audience sings his own lyrics back to him, his grin blinding in its intensity. Liam knows this. Harry knows this. It’s just words, right now. Words that he’s saying and not really meaning.

Besides, Liam would never deprive Harry’s fans of that experience. He’s seen his fair share of Harry Styles shows now, and each and every one had been breath-taking in its own way. Liam wants others to see it, to witness it. It wouldn’t be fair of him to keep that all to himself.

“Still,” Harry continues, stubborn. He flings Liam’s arm away from him and flips himself in the blink of an eye, swinging a leg over Liam until he’s straddling him. Liam puts his own hands on Harry’s hips in his shock, a habit by now. “Maybe you should come,” Harry leans down to bite at Liam’s left nipple until his hips twitch, sitting back up to lock eyes, “Be my kept man.”

Liam laughs.

“I’m already your kept man.” He clarifies, rubbing his thumbs on the very edges of Harry’s hip tattoo, endeared and so very in love.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, eyes darkening, “You are, aren’t you?”

Liam laughs again, but he’s cut off by Harry’s lips on his, a crushing weight from above. He brings his hands up to frame Harry’s face, nails scratching lightly at his sharp jaw.

“I’ll be your anything.” Liam murmurs against Harry’s lips, caught up in a bruising kiss straight after. He feels strung out in the best way, like Harry’s taken every single inch of Liam inside himself to keep.

“I know you will,” Harry murmurs back only to capture Liam’s bottom lip between his, sucking on it briefly, “I will, too. Anything, Liam. I mean it.”

Their kissing continues, softer now and less desperate, and Liam licks into Harry’s mouth languidly, unhurried in his pursuit to taste every facet of him, to explore his mouth until he knows it as well as his own.

 _We’ve got time,_ he thinks, _ample time._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! :)


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